


For Old Times' Sake

by ObsessedScribe



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Hogwarts, Lost Love, Non-Canon Relationship, Pre-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8799100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsessedScribe/pseuds/ObsessedScribe
Summary: Just a little re-imagining of Newt's past. Yes, I have taken some liberties. This is pre-Fantastic Beasts, mostly because I like Tina but prefer writing original characters. I haven't written anything in the Harry Potter Universe in at least ten years, so please let me know your thoughts. Everything but the OC belongs to the incredibly talented J.K. Rowling.Doing this for fun and because I needed a little HP therapy.





	

The aged wooden sign above the cottage door was so faded, Newt could only make out the word _Apothecary_. Had he been able to read the proper title, he may have thought twice before knocking.

Well, that's not entirely true. He probably would've knocked more fervently, but at the very least, he would have taken a much deeper breath beforehand.

But alas, the teal paint flaked and peeled where it had once clearly stated _Cardaemon_. Newt was none the wiser.

His first knock went unanswered, so he paused a beat before rapping his knuckles against it once more. It was met with the same response. Never one to be easily irritated, Newt Scamander waited, taking in the view of the surrounding countryside. It somewhat reminded him of home. He'd grown up in a quaint house where his mother had enough space on their property to breed Hippogriffs. This location was quite comparable and he found it positively charming. Almost instantly, his thoughts shifted to all the creatures he might find roaming these meadows and stretch of forest off to the north.

 _Lovely_ , he thought, distractedly stumbling off the cobblestone path and wandering around the small stone house for a better look.

The backyard, he saw, contained a garden, which may have been better described as an overgrown jungle. Newt regarded everything in awe as he slowly followed the winding pathway, from the most basic muggle daisies to Venomous Tentacula. Upon further inspection, he saw several smallish greenhouses several hundred yards from the back of the house. He imagined each contained a separate habitat for various plant species.

"Wondrous," he whispered to himself. _But what on earth would I be here needed for?_

Just as he thought he may have spotted a Wiggentree— _fascinating!_ —he heard something.

"Newt Scamander?" A feminine voice, muffled by the foliage, called out from somewhere behind Newt.

"A-at your service, miss." He answered, though he had yet to look away from the Wiggentree. The creatures that generally accompanied such trees happened to be some of his favorites.

"Do you like the plants?" "They're beautiful," he answered softly as he turned toward the sound. "Al-although, miss, I'm a magizoologist, not an herbologist."

"Then I'm lucky you're here, Mr. Scamander." Newt glanced up, quickly registering the young woman's face as she gradually approached.

_Bloody hell._

Again, if he had been able to read the sign above the door, he may have been able to prepare a little more for his sudden loss of the ability to breathe or the way he felt his heart flutter to a brief stop.

Instead, he just stood there, staring blankly at his school sweetheart.

When she met his gaze, though, he quickly dropped his eyes down to the pathway, hesitating for several moments before bringing them back to her face.

"Molly."

"Wasn't sure whether you'd recognize me."

"Of—of course I would," he stated softly, slightly offended. It had only been ten or so odd years ago.

"It's been a long time," she shrugged, sheepishly tucking back a lock of honey-colored hair that had fallen from her thick braid.

"I know." Newt quietly looked down at his shoes, feeling his heart break twice over with every word.

He'd been the one to stop writing. She'd had to leave school before the first semester of her fifth year ended. They'd corresponded through owl post quite regularly up until the months before his expulsion. After that, he couldn't bare to tell her what had happened. By the time everything was sorted it, too much time had passed and he'd just felt rotten about it. The summer before what should've been his seventh year at Hogwarts, Newt had arranged to visit what he knew now was this very cottage. Needless to say, he never made the journey.

"You're looking very well, Newt."

Despite her rather sallow appearance, her smile was just as striking as it always had been and, though a little sunken, her eyes sparkled. She glanced down at her own shoes—an old pair of wellies. Hair cascaded in front of her face, and Newt's fingers fought their trained reflex to brush it back.

She was the only human he'd ever had even the slightest inkling of how to care for, even after Leta Lestrange had come and gone from his life.

When he struggled to find a response, Molly just shook her head and chuckled. He found himself reaching toward her, wanting to take her hand in his. It felt as if not a single moment had passed between them since they last saw one another.

"It's alright, Newt. I realize how I must look."

 _Dying_ , she thought solemnly, cursing herself for feeling pathetic. _I look like I'm dying_.

Hearing the disgust in her voice, Newt raised his head instantly and met her eyes.

"Beautiful," he responded firmly.

And he meant it.

* * *

 

Newt's fondness for Molly began immediately upon spotting her in the Great Hall. He didn't have to think hard to remember her sorting ceremony, and he was sure the reason he remembered it so well was because it was the very first time Newt felt like he might possibly have a chance of connecting with another person.

She was such a little thing then, with large, round eyes, that Newt had to wonder if she was even eleven. Judging from the snickers, others at the table were wondering the same thing.

When the small group of unsorted First Years passed by, Molly beamed at her older brother and jovially waved in the way that only unblemished young children can. He, a thirteen-year-old and one of the more "well adjusted" students, waved back stiffly, looking irritated that his little sister dare address him in public.

"Oy, Marcus," someone sniggered. "Is your sister part house elf?"

Marcus shushed them a little, but couldn't hide his own laughter. The little girl's cheeks flushed pink as she looked away, but she kept walking.

No longer interested in eavesdropping on the Third Years' conversation, Newt uncovered the small leather-bound book he'd been hiding up his sleeve and continued to read until the ceremony began.

 

An hour or so later, he watched the same young girl pop up from the table across the room once her name was called. _Molly Cardaemon_. She strode as confidently as she could manage toward the front of the hall. Cringing slightly as the hat was lowered onto her head, Molly squeezed her eyes shut. The hat barely brushed the top of her head before it bellowed:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Molly looked positively relieved as she gently slipped off the stool and floated over to the house table. Newt remembered having that exact feeling the previous year; he recognized Molly as one of those people who, like him, might not have been built for the other houses and would've suffered greatly had she been sorted any differently. Cheers erupted from the table, but Newt knew from experience that the noise level had nothing to do with their new housemate, but rather everything to do with the excitement of being back at school (for most) and the unspoken competition with the other houses to see who could cheer the loudest.

It was evident when nobody dared give up a seat. Was it because of her size? Or was it because her dark brown eyes were quite large and round, reminding Newt of the mooncalves he'd read about over the summer? He didn't know, but couldn't bare to see something so innocent suffer, so he scooted over as she made her way to his side of the table. She saw the open spot right away, which eliminated the need for him to speak up—this, he was thankful for. She looked at him, both grateful and so delicately elated that she, too, was a Hufflepuff like her brother, and probably their parents.

 

Molly soon discovered that Newt wasn't going to pull her braids, tease her for being so small, or really say much of anything at all. If she wanted to spend an entire afternoon drawing the pictures she saw in her junior edition of Magical Water Plants of the Highland Lochs, he wasn't going to throw her pencil across the room and laugh while she scrambled to get her things together. The fact that he was a year ahead of her did nothing to deter her. So, whenever there was an open seat beside Newt, Molly would quietly fill it. Of course they didn't share classes, but both students had a penchant for spending the majority of their free time holed up in the library. Each developed distaste for the common room, as it was unmonitored and a much easier place to get picked on. Just because Hufflepuff was considered the "nice" house, didn't mean all the students were indeed nice.

At first, her silent attention made Newt a little uneasy. He was, after all, incredibly shy and most certainly felt more comfortable with animals then with people. But over a short period of time, he began to find her presence comforting. On several occasions, he actually found himself waiting for her.

The only she time really spoke to him in the first month was when she spotted him eyeing the biscuit she'd knicked from lunch a couple hours before. Why hadn't he thought to bring a snack? It felt like ages before dinner.

"Would you like half?" she asked, breaking it into two before he had a chance to answer. "I can't eat the entire thing."

As she held it out to him, he caught site of the thin, puckered scar running up her arm and into her robe.

"T-thank you." He grabbed the biscuit and ducked his head instinctually—looking people in the eye had a tendency to bring on great discomfort.

However, he really wanted to see more of that scar.

She followed his gaze and shook her arm so that it became fully exposed.

"Devil's Snare," she proudly stated, her cheeks flushing sweetly. "My mum has one in her greenhouse."

Newt's lips twitched into a little smile as he studied the scar. Then he held out his own arm and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a small pockmark.

"B-billywig s-sting," he said. "Had an allergic r-reaction and l-levitated for three w-whole days!"

"Wicked," Molly murmured, smiling conspiratorially before looking back down at her book.

He later asked if she had any spare parchment he could borrow because he'd used up all of his on taking a rather copious amount of notes. She happily handed over some extra sheets and went back to reading.

 

Their quiet routine continued through the fall. When Molly received an owl from her mother asking whether or not she had made any new friends, she answered yes, but didn't go into too much detail regarding the gangly, freckled, ginger-haired Second Year who had so graciously let her sit next to him at the sorting ceremony and had continued to let her follow him around like a lost puppy since her older brother Marcus was having none of it. Doing so would have no doubt made her mother respond with false accusations that would make her blush. Newt was most certainly _not_ her boyfriend.

Likewise, she omitted all details about how frequently she found herself being picked on by the other students. Except, of course, by the gangly, freckled, ginger-haired Second Year.

He was soft-spoken, which she didn't mind, and had a tendency to stammer, which she also didn't mind. Actually, she preferred it as such, since whatever he did take care to say was carefully considered. She, too, typically preferred not to say much at all, so the fact that she had made a friend with whom she had that trait in common was absolutely delightful.

_Finally._

Had she told her mother this, she would have received a gentle coaxing to try to be a little more social, regardless of the fact that many kids often referred to her as a half-breed house elf. She brushed it off, because yes, she knew her eyes were very large and really, what could she do about it; however, just because she wasn't crying over their taunting didn't mean she was exactly clambering to sit with them during meals. Newt, on the other hand, was also kind. And while, yes, that quality could be found in loads of people at Hogwarts, nobody wore it quite the same way he did. So if he was quiet and wanted to sit silently in the library, so be it. She felt comfortable and safe, which was all that really mattered to a quiet little girl so far away from home.

 

One afternoon, she spotted several students circling a boy in the hallway. Upon closer—and careful—inspection, she realized it was Newt. Newt, with his mop of unruly hair and big feet, hugged an armful of library books close to his chest and braced himself.

"Hey!"

What Molly had intended to sound forceful came out as more of a squeak, which would be reflected later on in the year when they all moved on to calling her "pipsqueak".

Newt opened one eye to see where the sudden distraction had come from.

"How cute. This bumbling idiot needs a little half-breed to protect him," someone snickered.

His books were then abruptly knocked out of his arms before they descended on her. He jerked forward, fists clenched. He wasn't exactly sure what to do with them, but someone held him back before he could find out.

"Please," Newt pleaded softly. "L-leave her a-alone."

But he felt powerless, something he realized he didn't ever want to feel again.

Just as they began to surround her, the potions master appeared from around the corner. He raised his eyebrows at the sight and the students reluctantly dispersed.

"How pathetic." One of them sneered into Molly's face as he walked away, giving her a light shove. She didn't flinch. Newt looked on in admiration.

After releasing the breath she'd been holding, Molly rushed to help Newt collect his things from the ground.

"Are you—" She inhaled and exhaled deeply once more. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes." He answered. "Thank you."

Newt looked up at his friend, wide-eyed, as his hands lingered over the pile of books. Then he smiled broadly, releasing a nervous chuckle.

"That was close."

He stood up, timidly offering Molly his hand. She was equally as timid in accepting it, but as she did, she smiled.

"Bloody Slytherins."

And just like that, the deal was sealed. Newt Scamander and Molly Caedmon became inseparable.

* * *

 

Molly's eyes welled at his sincerity as she stared at him, but then she shook her head and blinked rapidly.

"Well, Mr. Scamander," she began, placing her hands on her hips. Newt could hear the tears stuck in her throat.

"It appears that I have a flesh-eating slug infestation."

"Oh?" He swallowed thickly, shifting gears to match her pace. "I d-don't see anything…"

"Just over here." Molly marched forward down the path toward one of the greenhouses.

As he followed behind, he couldn't help but think that if she turned sideways, nobody would see her. She had always been a thin girl, but this was troubling. Her illness had clearly taken its toll over the years, which made him feel like even more of a wanker for abandoning her all those years ago. It was the one thing he regretted most deeply.

He shook the thoughts out of his head. For now, the important matter at hand was the getting rid of the slugs.

"Have you tried the repellent?"

As the words left his mouth, he braced himself. Molly was not daft and she would most certainly let him know it.

"Repellent, you say? Is there such a thing?" She playfully narrowed her eyes as she glanced back over her shoulder at him. He smiled. "Any gardener worth her salt knows how to get rid of a few pests, but it seemed to have had the reverse effect."

As she spoke, she swung open the door, carefully avoiding stepping too far into the space. "And to be honest, it takes up quite a bit of energy to deal with them and I have none to spare."

As Newt stood close behind her, peering through the doorway into the greenhouse, he wasn't quite sure what to say. Whether it was the effect of their close proximity or the fifty or so child-sized flesh-eating slugs hanging about, he couldn't be sure. Since he'd been in much closer proximity to much more dangerous beasts, he wagered it had to be the loose hairs from her braid tickling his chin and the way she smelled of rosemary.

"W-well," he began, shaking his head. "You most certainly have a problem."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed my little story. I will be continuing this, but the rate of updates may vary.


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